Before September ramps everything back up, here’s your chance to design things differently. Yes, Mama, you have the power to design your own life and choose what you want to say “No” to for the rest of the year.

After six weeks of chaos, I’m craving structure again. But there’s something I don’t want back: the stress.

Chronic mum stress has become wallpaper.

I wrote about this back in May after going to a yoga class with a sound bath. I checked my Garmin afterwards and my stress levels had dropped by 70% in an hour.

The shocking bit wasn’t the drop. It was that I hadn’t felt particularly stressed beforehand. Nothing dramatic had happened. It was just a normal day looking after three small boys. Yet I must have been experiencing a high level of stress to begin with for that kind of drop to even be possible.

It freaked me out a bit and so I looked into motherhood and chronic stress. I’ll be honest with you, the reading ain’t pretty.

So many of us are functioning, getting everything done, meeting everyone’s expectations (making sure the school uniform/lunchbox/schoolbag with matching pencil case etc. is bought) whilst in a state of dangerously high stress. We never get a break from it. We don’t have in-built circuit-breakers, we’re expected to deal with stress upon stress upon stress. Until that fateful day when we just can’t take it any more, our capacity is well and truly breached and we reach burnout.

The Motherhood Index found that 93% of mums report experiencing burnout.

Summer has revealed that wallpaper

Over summer, we’ve slowed down. We’ve taken a break (of sorts). We’ve had more time as a family. It’s a step change.

We’ve taken our foot off the gas, which gives us a rare opportunity to actually see that wallpaper, to take a step back, like we’re a judge on Interior Design Masters (confession: Michelle Ogundehin is my style icon) and look critically at it and ask: is this working? Is this too much? Could this be designed better?

So how do we stop the stress becoming wallpaper again?

Well, I’ll be honest with you, we are starting close to home because not all the mum stress is external. Some of it we create ourselves through expectations.

We set the bar impossibly high for what we think we should be able to achieve in all areas from the state of our home/relationship/finances/bodies etc. and then go like the clappers trying to make our actual lives match the expectations we’ve set for them.

Of course we’re stressed.

One of the steps of breaking up with mum guilt is: acceptance, not expectation.

So this September, instead of just asking:

“What’s stressing me out?”

Go one step further and ask:

“What’s the expectation behind that stress?”

I’m writing this in the lounge surrounded by Magna Tile shrapnel, bits of train track and, for good measure, a face-planted Scooby Doo. It’s not the mess that causes the stress, it’s the pressure I put on myself to keep the lounge tidy at all times.

So rather than pushing myself harder to meet the expectation, wouldn’t it be kinder to shift the expectation?

There will be plenty of stress this September I can’t control. I don’t need to add another layer by demanding the impossible of myself.

Please, Mama, be kind to yourself x

About me: I’m Leila, triplet mum, TEDx speaker and founder of the F*** Mum Guilt Movement. This is a space for questioning the bullshit, rebelling against impossible expectations and making motherhood a happier place to be. Subscribe for a weekly dose of mama empowerment.

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(pic: Frankie at a Rockpool Safari organised by a local charity)

We slow down. We notice. But then, so often, we forget all that feedback and plough on. Not this time.

Every summer, life changes gear. The routines shift. We spend more time as a family. We spend more time outside.

And while I was really anxious about this back in June (I really didn’t want to let go of the usual term-time structure) I think there’s something really useful about it: data. You get to “try on” living a bit differently and see what the feedback is.

The problem is that most of us run the experiment and then don’t bother looking at the results. What a waste of data!

“Oh that was nice,” we say and then plough on back into our old routine as if it never happened. Or, in my case last year, “That was hell, let’s not ever do that again.”

What a missed learning opportunity.

Last year, when I asked myself what summer had been trying to tell me, I realised I was happier spending less time online. I wanted more time outdoors and more time with old friends. Nothing ground-breaking. I bet you can relate.

This year?

The message has been considerably less subtle.

This is Summer calling, I have a message for you:

1, Slow. The Fuck. Down. Mama.

I have triplets.

I cannot keep setting timelines for myself based on what I could achieve if I didn’t have three four-year-old boys and all the logistical, emotional, and physical work that comes with them. This morning I was shouting, "Don’t play football with the garlic boys, please!” before breakfast.

Yet the over-achieving part of my brain has failed to recalibrate in motherhood. I put so much pressure on myself to do and be more, but wouldn’t it be kinder to slow down and cut myself some slack? I’m done doing motherhood as if I was being chased by a tiger.

2, Stop comparing.

I look at what other people are building. How often they’re posting. How quickly their brands and Substacks are growing.

And then somehow my brain mistakes their capacity for mine. Why place that expectation on myself?

So I need to remind myself of one of the steps of breaking up with mum guilt: choose compassion not comparison.

3, Get off Instagram.

It started as just a little break whilst I was camping but if I’m being honest, I don’t really want to go back on.

I know this is not what my publishers will want to hear because I’m going to be promoting a book but when I take a step back it’s clear that Instagram triggers more fear-based emotions in me than fun-based emotions right now. So for the moment, the kindest thing I can do is avoid it. God that feels good to admit.

4, Stop multi-tasking.

Being pulled in two different directions is making me miserable.

I’m trying to post while my kids are running around. Phoning the bank while simultaneously breaking up a fight. Always ticking two things off the to-do list at once, or am I?

One thing summer has given me is much clearer boundaries. I’ve had days, weeks even when I’ve decided I’m offline. The out of office is on I’ve set clear expectations, pushed back big pieces of work until September.

When I’m working, I want to work. When I’m with the boys, I want to be with the boys. And when I’m off, I want to actually be off – not an unhealthy hybrid.

5, Stop filling every bit of space.

I am a squeezer-in of one more thing. I can’t help this automatic habit of trying to maximise. An unscheduled afternoon? Great, what can we squeeze in? A free hour? Excellent, what can I tick off?

But summer has reminded me that not every gap needs filling. My triplets can’t cope with that much stimulation in the heat, and nor can I for that matter.

Some of our best moments have happened when there was absolutely nothing planned. When the boys have had to make their own fun. When I’ve sat in the garden instead of tackling another job. It felt a bit unproductive at first, but maybe that’s actually the point. Mamas cannot be productive 24/7.

Get really honest with yourself, Mama

Before we get caught up in all the work of getting prepared for the back to school September rush, I want you to get really honest with yourself and ask yourself:

• What has summer been telling you you need to stop.

• What do you need less of in your life?

• What is draining you, maybe even bleeding you dry?

Remember, the most useful thing you can take from summer isn’t what you did. It’s what you’re ready to stop doing.

About me: I’m Leila, triplet mum, TEDx speaker and founder of the F*** Mum Guilt Movement. This is a space for questioning the bullshit, rebelling against impossible expectations and making motherhood a happier place to be. Subscribe for a weekly dose of mama empowerment.

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So this year, we went camping (ahem: glamping). 2 families. 5 boys 5 and under, and it was magical.

Sure it was challenging in parts, and the boys were having so much fun with the big kids that they pretty much went to bed when we did and were ratty and emotional the next day.

But spending a few days in a field, away from all the usual trappings of modern family life (like electricity), made me realise how much we’ve overcomplicated parenting.

5 modern-day parenting fails

1, Kids (and adults for that matter) do not need constant stimulation or entertaining.

Kids are perfectly capable of making their own entertainment. Put a bunch of kids in a field, all different ages and backgrounds, some even speaking different languages, and pretty soon they’ll be making friends, kicking a ball about, riding bikes together and inviting each other to their birthday parties. Fact.

2, Kids need freedom to grow.

The youngest in our group was just 3 years old, and the absolute highlight of the whole trip was the look on his face when he rode a pedal bike for the first time, then pedalled non-stop around the field on a dirt track through long grass for the next 20 minutes. To him, it was Everest, more than that, the biggest, wildest adventure imaginable. He was a champion.

Rafa and Jerry went “hunting” for blackberries with the big kids in the thorny thicket and felt extremely grown up, and possibly ready for some kind of ITV survival show.

It’s much easier to give them this confidence-boosting freedom in a contained environment. And watching them reminded me how much they gain when we give them the space to figure things out without us.

3, Instant gratification isn’t doing any of us any favours.

I get it, I’m impatient and when we’ve all got so much on our mum to-do lists, faster = better. Or so it seems. Camping is the antidote to instant gratification culture.

Fancy a coffee? Great, let me just fetch the water, light the fire and make that for you. I may be a little longer than a Nespresso machine. But who wants a Nespresso when you can have this rich, slow ceremonial process.

Left your favourite toy in the car and didn’t realise until bedtime? No problem, let me just hike over the next field with a head torch and get it for you.

Need a wee? Now? Seriously?

4, We all need to slow the f*** down.

We’re a very active family and I cannot resist the urge to squeeze one more thing in but camping was a reminder that we cannot regulate when we’re rushing. We need nature to slow us down, to sit and watch the sunset because there is literally nothing else to do.

5, We have too much stuff.

Camping is basic. I’m talking Maslow’s hierarchy basic: shelter, warmth, food. I actually took a bag of activities and games for the kids. They didn’t even open it.

Since we’ve come back, I’ve been decluttering our house like a woman possessed.

Our bedroom now looks calm, rather than a dumping ground for the stuff we unpacked when we moved, then didn’t know what to do with. I’ve cleared out all the toys and books that are too young for my triplets now - and as a bonus I left them outside my house with a “please take” sign and have now met some lovely young families in the area. I’m working up to tackling their clothes… but James filled the van and drove to the tip today and honestly, the energy in the house feels lighter.

Camping stripped things back to basics. And weirdly, parenting got easier.

The mental load was lighter when there wasn’t so much stuff, so much choice, so much planning and so much pressure to keep everyone entertained.

And my kids loved it so much that when I pointed out we couldn’t stay any longer because we’d run out of clean shorts, they came up with a solution:

Go home. Do the washing. Come straight back.

I must admit, I did google a few other campsites on the way home.

What do you think we’ve overcomplicated about modern parenting?

I write unapologetically about triplet motherhood, mindset and breaking up with mum guilt. If you’d like a shot of that every week, subscribe below.

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Before I had kids, I’d read an article about a woman who travelled around Italy on mat leave. She made it sound so easy. A few quick hacks was all there was to it. This is what seeded my unhealthy travel expectation.

Next up all my husband’s colleagues went on exotic trips, like backpacking around South America, on paternity leave. He told me that the first question anyone would ask when he got back from paternity leave would be “Where did you go?” (which I though was a bit off - why not ask about the babies or fatherhood?)

We used to love travel. I was raised on super cheap flights to Europe and wanted to taste all of it I could. Both my husband and myself have lived and worked abroad. So, although daunted, I was keen to give it a go. So I asked around for advice from other mums.

“I’d rather stand in my kitchen and burn money,” was the advice I got from another mum in the twin and triplet WhatsApp.

Surely, it couldn’t be that bad.

It turns out, I needed to learn the hard way.

Last year, we went on an expensive, all-inclusive holiday at a resort with lots of sports activities. TBH big resort holiday are not my thing, and but I was persuaded by the kids’ club (free childcare) and the fact everyone else raved about them.

Here’s how it went down.

1. They would only let us book one travel cot per room so in order to get 3 travel cots we had to pay for 3 double rooms!

2. The rooms were not at all baby-proof so we ended up using aires and bits of furniture to block access to the balcony, which the triplets would have had no problem climbing off of!

3. Dinner was served after the then 3 year-old’s bedtime. Rafa fell asleep in his soup on the first night so we just had peanut butter sandwiches in the room after that. What a waste of going all inclusive.

4. The boys discovered they could turn the lights back on from the low bedside sockets. Our workaround? Remove the key card and sit in the dark in what James called “the prison cell” from 7pm.

5. We all got D&V - so bad I felt like I’d set up a make-shift field hospital. I vividly remember lifting Rafa over Jerry to be sick in the bathroom, not quite making it and a Jerry getting a sick shower. Word from the wise: do not eat the salad at the hotel buffet. Ever. There was no available doctor - we were told we could get a taxi to another town, but that didn’t seem fair on the taxi driver who would be cleaning up after us. The kids got excluded from the kids’ club and we just spent the week vomiting in our room.

(pic: Me trying to push a double buggy in one hand and a single in the other for a sunset stroll because we couldn’t fly with our oversize triple pram)

The whole sorry situation ended with Rafa being violently sick all over me and the poor lady in front on the coach back to the airport. After getting shouted at by the coach driver, I stripped in the airport toilet and tried to Wet Wipe myself clean. Nothing gets rid of the smell though. The sick had got in my hair, in my bra, in my socks.

If we needed one more message from the universe to stay home, this was it. Or so I thought.

Bleary-eyed, and weak, back at Gatwick we got a bus to the carpark. When it came to our stop, we were so worried about safely holding the triplets and getting them all down onto the road without running off we left a bag on the bus, with the car keys and James’ insulin in. I managed to flag down the bus, James retrieved the keys and we laughed the whole sorry business off. Vowing to give it time before we tried it.

We get sold the myth of the perfect family holiday.

Sunsets, good times, happy kids in matching outfits. But here’s the truth:

Kids get sick.
They scream on the plane.
They fight.
They lose their minds in buffets.
They throw up on the transfer coach.

That’s just reality. And if we go in expecting perfection, we set ourselves up for disappointment, and resentment. Then the mum guilt piles in too.

As I write this, I’m preparing to go camping with my kids. Of course I’m romanticising about singing songs and toasting marshmallows by the fire, but the reality is it’s bound to have challenging moments. Someone will want a wee in the middle of the night. I will forget to pack something vital. The kids stay up too late and be overtired and emotional the next day. But if we can tip the balance so those things stay in the minority, that will be a major success.

I write about real triplet motherhood, how to ditch mum guilt and how to enjoy this crazy ride. Subscribe for a weekly shot of mama empowerment.

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It’s only been a week, and I already feel like I’ve run a marathon when I’m barely one mile in.

I start hyperventilating when I look at all the blank space in the calendar for the rest of the month. Many of us go into the summer holidays with our batteries already flat. We’re the ones that need a break, but instead of that we’ve got long days where school/nursery is closed and all of the usual activities that break up the week are off too. And is it just me, or does the generally scant village get even scanter in the summer?

So by 9am we’re already in the park, wondering how we’re going to make it to 7pm.

Here’s my morning:

5:30am “Mummy, my plaster came off in the night. I need another one right now,” from an indignant Jerry milking the graze he got on his elbow yesterday.

6:30am “Mummy, Rafa is playing Break Your Neck” (a “game” that involves sliding down the stairs head first) and sometimes ends in calls to 111.

7:45am “Mummy, my poo came too quickly.” I clean up, bark at everyone to wash their face and clean their teeth then chase them around the house with T-shirts and shorts.

7:55am “MUMMY, I need a new T-shirt, Frankie weed on me.” FFS!

8am I head out of the house with a dog clipped around my waist and 3 unruly 4-year-olds who definitely haven’t brushed their teeth or hair, which now looks pretty horrific after I gave them DIY chops yesterday.

9am We’ve had babycinnos (and a cortado for me), done our shopping and are in the only local park we haven’t been to so far this holiday and I’m wondering how the hell we’re going to make it until bedtime. I actually formed a mini support group on a bench for the other mums and dads feeling the same. There were a lot of sympathetic nods amongst the screams not to jump off the slide or come and put some more suncream on.

Here’s what nobody says: summer holidays are hard work.

I’ve got the noise of three four-year-olds all vying for my attention and shouting over each other. I’ve got the additional work they seem to create (as if the standard stuff wasn’t enough), the constant cooking and feeding, and of course the fight-breaking up and plaster applying. Honestly, they even fought each other with olive branches the other day. Oh the irony. But it’s not just them, I’ve noticed my mum rage has ratcheted up a notch and I don’t like it.

Yet, social media would have you believe everyone else’s summer looks like a glossy ad for a 5-star holiday resort. It’s BS. Plus there’s the added pressure to “make magical memories” and the clock is ticking as “You’ve only got 18 summers”. Then there’s the spending. One mum told me yesterday that taking the kids to the cinema and dinner was as expensive as a weekend break!

Summer has its own brand of mum guilt.

The Guilt Gap is the space between our expectations of motherhood and our reality. It’s where mum guilt thrives. We hold onto a fantasy: the mum we thought we’d be, the life we thought we’d have, the summer we thought we’d be enjoying. But anchoring ourselves to that fantasy only fuels guilt, because we’re measuring ourselves against a fantasy.

Then we whip our phones out and start comparing. We look at everybody else’s happy holiday photos. Fancy days out. Elaborate play set-ups and wonder why we’re struggling to just keep on top of the laundry. And wish we’d ordered a paddling pool before they all sold out. A good mum would be on top of stuff like that.

We might even start to doubt our own summer decisions. For example we’ve decided not to go abroad this year. Instead, on Sunday, we’re going camping in a field about 20 minutes up the road for 3 nights.

When I see the smily family selfies on the plane or round the hotel pool, I feel a pang of “maybe we should have…” “they are doing it better,” but they are not me.

Camping will be fun, cheap and it’s all I can handle right now. Plus, these are the kinds of memories that I want to make. My mum and aunties still reminisce about the camping trips they went on as kids. My brother and I never get together to relive the standard package holidays and naff hotel bands we experienced as kids.

So if your summer is not looking like a postcard right now, I see you. If you can’t face the big days out our trips abroad, I see you. And, if you need some solidarity, I’m right here in the park with you.

I write honestly about mum guilt, the daily chaos of triplet mum life, and how I stay sane. Subscribe below to hang out:

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I’m raising my tea in recognition of all you’ve juggled, all the packed lunches, PE kits and World Book Day costumes you’ve magicked up out of thin air. All the school uniform and general washing you’ve done to keep everyone in clean pants up to this point. All the dinners cooked and beds made. All of it. It’s ben a lot.

By the time we get to the end of term, it’s not just the kids who are worn out, we are too. We have silently and invisibly made it all happen all year.

Permission to pause and reflect

Maybe the past six months haven’t been about smashing goals.

Maybe it’s just been hanging on in there, which is sometimes the biggest achievement of them all.

But, I bet there are things you’ve done this year that are worth stopping to acknowledge.

Because mums are great at running, doing, planning, grinding on. We’re not so great at stopping to say: “Wow, I’ve made it this far, and that’s no small feat.” Instead mum guilt is more likely to pipe up and say, “Pah, is that all you’ve done.”

So let’s put it in it’s place right now and honour ourselves. I mean imagine if we made an infographic of all the things we’ve actually done in 6 months. It has potential to break the internet!

First, get in the zone

Find 5 quiet minutes today. Put your phone on silent. Close the door if you can. Play a song that makes you feel calm.

Now… Reflect With These 3 Questions:

✔️ What’s one thing you’re proud of from the past six months? (This could be anything at work, with your kids, a decision you’ve made for yourself or an action you took)

✔️ What’s been your bravest moment? (Big or small, it all counts. It could be finally having that conversation you’ve been putting off).

✔️ Find a photo of your family from the last 6 months that makes you smile? (Use it as your screen saver, or print it out and pin in on your fridge and remind yourself why you’re doing all of this.)

A mid-year motivator

I set myself a goal in January of sorting my book this year. By May, I hadn’t written a thing. I looked at the calendar, realised that if I didn’t do it soon it would be pushed to September.

So, I’ve been working flat out on my chapters over the last few weeks. I was up at 5:30am on Monday. Timing and conditions will never be perfect but I want to make progress in the right direction.

What promise did you make yourself back in January?

Not the goals you thought you should have.

The ones that made you feel excited. The things that used to fill your cup before motherhood took over.

Back at the beginning of the year, we all got together for a F*** Mum Guilt community event. We did a quick meditation to reconnect with the things that used to fill our cup before we had children, then had a good chat about how we were going to stop another year going by without any of them happening.

If you did this exercise with us back in January, think of this as your six-month check-in.

If you’re new here, welcome.

Either way, I hope it reminds you that the woman you were before motherhood hasn’t disappeared. She’s still there. She deserves more air time in the second half of this year.

Give yourself a few minutes, put this on and feel the good vibes come in.

I’d love to know what comes up for you.

Share this with a mum who deserves her own salute.

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Plus the extra pressure of trying to meet all my deadlines and schedule all my meetings before Friday.

Sometimes the anticipation is worse than the reality.

But right now, I’m feeling pretty close to a panic attack.

(Pic: the triplets posing at their leavers’ party. The best part of this party was when we all sat in a circle and each child said what they wanted to be when they grow up. One girl said, “Dolly Parton”. )

There’s so much about summer that’s out of our control

• The sibling fights. (Last week, my mum, who taught Early Years in Croydon schools for decades, was in tears and shouted “I just want to be on my own” after just 3 nights staying with us. Welcome to my life, Mum)

• The failed expensive days out.

• The comparison trap - the sickening photos that will clog up our feeds and make us feel like failures.

• The heatwaves that prevent all emotional regulation (adults and children alike).

But here’s what we can control: our energy. Our mindset. Our thermostat.

Summer isn’t a sprint. It’s a marathon. So let’s pace ourselves like athletes.

1. Eat. And drink water.
Sounds basic, but I skipped lunch today after packing everyone else’s and only realised when I was shaky and short-tempered. (Coffee ≠ food.)

2. Build in micro-breaks
As soon as the boys are down for the evening, I put an audiobook on my phone for them, clip the lead on the dog and go for a walk. Sometimes I go for a longer walk to the beach, sometimes I want to put some tunes on and run, but sometimes I literally just enjoy the 10 minutes of silence as we walk around the block. These 10 minutes cleanse the stress of the day.

3. Compassion > comparison.
We can turn to the third step of breaking up with mum guilt and choose compassion over comparison. Yes, there will be sickening holiday photos on your feed. Mums that look unfeasibly good in bikinis. Wholesome family photos. But my last holiday was hell. No one films the looks everyone on the plane shoots you when your kids scream with earache.

Bonus tip: Keep it simple.
Best moments so far? My boys had hours of fun this afternoon running around the garden naked, squirting themselves and the plants with cheap water pistols. You’d think it’d get old, but it doesn’t. I haven’t even invested in a paddling pool yet – I’m saving that for when things get desperate.

The expectations on mums over the summer are unfair.

We’re supposed to be able to just pull it all out of Mary Poppins’ bag and serve up a summer of memories. Don’t even get me started on the whole “You’ve only got 18 summers” rhetoric.

Summer doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs you to be fuelled enough to laugh, recover after the hard moments (which will surely come) and keep your patience and sense of humour for tomorrow.

The single most important thing you can do is look after your own energy. Keep your inner thermostat under control. We’ve got an ultramarathon ahead of us, mamas, and we don’t want to blow out before we get to the second mile.

If this resonated, please forward it to another mum who might need it today and subscribe for a weekly shot of mama empowerment (you might need it over this summer holidays)

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I’m struggling.

I don’t generally moan about how hard being a triplet mum is because I’m so grateful to have healthy boys after the journey we’ve all been on. But, honestly, 3 x 3-year-olds + a heatwave = mama on the edge.

(Photo of me sighing out, looking hot and DONE)

They are going through a particularly testing stage where they’re answering back, saying mean things, even hitting me sometimes. They are louder than ever, all shouting over each other, or all doing increasingly stupid things for my attention, and it’s a LOT.

On Sunday, the bedtime routine took 2 hours (and 2 fans). I was crying well before those two hours were up. They were wild. There is something in that phrase “Mad dogs and Englishmen”. Well, I have three mad English hot puppies, and they were going nuts.

At an absolute low point, one pooed on the carpet in protest.

Motherhood has been tough recently.

I didn’t even manage to write to you last week, and I’m sorry about that. When I was breastfeeding, I remember saying they were literally taking every drop of my energy, and it still feels like that tbh.

The hardest thing about Sunday evening is it had been such a lovely day. I’d been at a yoga and painting workshop in my friend’s garden. I’d come back feeling my heart was open and happy. I’d felt so content quietly sat around a table with the other women painting. I didn’t know most of them, we weren’t talking much but we were relaxed. For those hours, I didn’t have to plan, fire-fight, feed or referee anyone. I could just be me.

I was just being.

Then I came home and almost immediately found myself back in survival mode.

Three hot, tired triplets. Dinner. Bedtime. The constant noise, demands and decisions.

It felt like I’d stepped out of one world and straight back into another.

And it made me wonder how many of us are spending so much time in survival mode that we don’t even notice it until we get the rare chance to escape it for a few hours.

Have we become so accustomed to survival mode that we’ve started mistaking it for normal life?

Has survival mode become normal life?

A new report The Motherhood Index just proved what I’ve been saying here for weeks - mum stress has become wallpaper. 93% of us experience burnout with 58% experiencing it “often or most days”.

This is a crisis hiding in plain sight.

We can’t even see it because the very same report found that most mums (61%) rate their own wellbeing as “good”.

I’ve said it before, Mama, we are not fine. We’re not coping nearly as well as we’ve convinced ourselves we are. We are stretched to our absolute limit with the mental load, the planning, the organising, the risk-reducing, the juggle, the knowing we’re going to drop a ball because we’re so exhausted and worrying about which one it’ll be.

In fact, our “Mum jugs” are so dangerously full, we’re so close to what our brains and body can actually handle, that it only takes one extra thing, like something completely out of our control - a heatwave, and we’re in tears.

• Have you noticed yourself slipping into survival mode today?

• Is it just how we have to function?

If motherhood has started to feel more like survival than living, you’re not alone.

Subscribe below for honest conversations about mum guilt, mental load and maternal wellbeing from a overheating triplet mama who will tell it like it is.

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Instead of going for a run, I sat on the bench in our front garden and cried.

It had been a long, wet afternoon. Jerry and Frankie have just learned how to ride pedal bikes so they had their helmets on, waiting by the back door all afternoon for the rain to stop. They were literally like puppies looking longingly at the door handle. I tried to distract them with stories and Play-Doh, but there’s only so much of that active boys will take before they get destructive.

That’s what was going on in my physical plane. In my mental plane, I’d mindlessly checked my emails and got a very scary, threatening one that I hadn’t had time to read properly, let alone process that had racked my stress and fear levels up and up. Dealing with both planes, and flipping from one to the other was exhausting.

Then it all kicked off at dinner time.

It was one of those situations (which I think you’ll recognise) where asking another adult for help actually results in more work than if you’d have just done the damn thing yourself. Plus, you have to deal with the incredulity of the other adult, seemingly not knowing how to do something you do multiple times a day. I’m not proud to say I snapped at James, then walked out the front door, sat on the bench and sobbed, hoping my neighbours wouldn’t see.

(Pic: Me holding Jerry with Frankie and Rafa in the background)

When the little things pile up

That doesn’t sound like enough to break a pretty capable mama on a Monday afternoon, but like I said the other week, it’s not the straw that breaks the donkey’s back, but the millions of unprocessed straws Mama Donkey has been carrying as she’s climbed up Mount Motherhood every single day. There’s hardly anyone offering to carry some of those straws for us, but plenty who want to pile on more. So on we go, ever upward, pushing harder and harder until we hit a moment where it all gets too much.

So please, one donkey to another, give yourself that circuit breaker, take those regular 10-minutes for yourself so you don’t end up snapping and crying on a bench. But also, if you find yourself there, show yourself some compassion. We’re dealing with a phenomenal challenge here, day after day, it’s going to take it’s toll.

How heavy are those straws feeling for you right now, Mama?

If this hit a nerve, you’re not alone.

I write about mum guilt, the mental load, and what it really looks like to stop putting yourself last.

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If you want to elbow some space for you into the next 6 months, hit play 🎙️

Bonus: if you’re finding it hard to really connect with or remember what used to make you feel like you, here’s a quick meditation to get you going.

“Whhhhyyyy?

Because you’ve just spat your drink on the floor and your brother is dripping his all over the table with his straw.”

Was it the straw that broke this mummy’s back?

The day had started well. We had guests over for the bank holiday, but, due to lack of a spare room, one was on the sofa and another was at the local hotel. We joined him there for an al fresco breakfast overlooking the beach. The boys were wearing some smart shirts I got at the church sale for 50p each. It could have worked out. It could have been fun even.

(Pic: the whole family, looking smart, on our way to breakfast. Blissfully unaware of what was to follow)

But I hadn’t factored in their complete inability to wait for food to be cooked, sheer outrage that other people were eating when they weren’t, and then as the sun rose higher so did their tempers.

By the time breakfast was over, they had taken their shirts off and were all demanding to be carried. Rafa did a few of those dramatic falls where a toddler swoons in slow motion, then pretends it is impossible to get up and instead blocks a busy pavement.

I tried just breathing through it, but honestly I needed a coffee. Plus we thought getting them inside could help. But alas that ended in straw-gate.

On the abortive walk back up the hill home they were all hot, grumpy, emotional, tired and wanted to be carried. The whining was like a background drone, constant but surging in waves. Then my husband, James, and I started snapping at each other, and tbh I was pretty close to tears by the time I prised a sweaty boy off me, having lugged him up the hill whilst holding another’s hand.

Half term will do this to you.

You’ll try to pull things off you’d never normally consider and expect them to work. Big outings. Late meals. Hot children. Broken routines. “Making memories.” In fact, we nearly booked a trip to France this half-term, but the thought of it made me so anxious, we ditched it. The packing. Six hours in a van. Still doing all the normal mum jobs once we got there. Cooking. Washing. Sorting snacks. Managing moods.

I realised I didn’t actually want a holiday. I wanted a break.

Pinch points

In the talk I gave for Joeli Brearley, about the mum guilt-free return to work, I spoke about pinch points. These are times in our year when either things at work or at home are intense. Half-term is a classic pinch point.

Resources are down. Capacity is down. Expectations need to go down too. Mum guilt thrives in the gap between reality and expectation. Trust me mama, trying to maintain normal standards during abnormal pressure is a recipe for disaster.

Schools and preschools are closed.

All the usual kids’ activities are off.

Normal routine is out the window.

We’ve got kids to feed (I’ve honestly lost count of the snacks) and entertain all day long.

Oh and this time we’ve got a heatwave.

Personally, that’s a recipe for hot, cranky kids that won’t sleep. If anyone knows how to handle overheating three-year-olds please dm me.

Mums don’t come with built-in circuit breakers

(Pic: Rafa on my lap holding a green pipe cleaner, Jerry clutching “Foxy” next to me)

We are expected to put up with surge after surge of stress without a circuit-breaker. We never get a chance to shed the stress load and reset. It’s not the straw that breaks us. It’s the thousands of tiny unprocessed moments before it.

So give yourself that circuit-breaker. Don’t wait for anyone else to hand it to you on a plate because honestly, they won’t.

What difference will 10 minutes make?

When my triplets were tiny and I was flat out, an American friend who had a two-year-old looked me in the eye and said, “What difference will 10 minutes make?”

I blinked, not understanding. I explained all the work I needed to get done in naptime before the babies woke, pump, sterilise bottles, empty the dishwasher, unload the laundry etc.

“Yeah, so what difference would it really make if you just spent 10 minutes sitting in the garden before you did all that?”

She was right. The to-do list was perpetual. I was pinned down by it, no matter how hard I grappled with it, I’d never end up on top. But 10 minutes alone, sitting in the garden in peace could really change how I felt, and how I experienced that morning.

It gave me a moment to feel like a person instead of a walking task list. Someone just about functioning, getting the next thing done, then the next, then the next.

Give yourself 10 minutes

Last night, after I put the boys to bed, I walked resolutely through the messy kitchen, choosing to ignore the noise coming from their bedroom, straight out into the garden.

I did not tidy up the toys strewn all over the lawn. I resisted the urge to pair the shoes kicked off in the vicinity of the door. I did not even get the washing in.

I just watched the golden sunlight, noticed the colours of the flowers I’d seen all day but didn’t really notice. I listened to the seagulls hoping to get lucky with a bank holiday BBQ. I even crept into my hammock. This involved a short battle with mum guilt who wanted to know why I hadn’t cleaned the kitchen or washed the day’s sandy swimwear yet.

After a day of constant noise, demands and physical touch, the quiet felt medicinal. Restorative. Humanising maybe.

It was a perfect 10-minutes before a nappy-clad Jerry, who should have been fast asleep in his own bed crept in with me.

10 minutes will be over in a flash, so take it and enjoy it.

During pinch points, rest isn’t indulgent. It’s the circuit breaker that stops us completely short-circuiting. No one wants to see Mama blow.

If I gave you ten minutes of quiet alone time, what would you do? Let me know in the comments.

I write no-holds-barred about triplet mum life and breaking up with mum guilt. Hit subscribe to join us and be part of this conversation and movement.

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This image stayed with me, somewhere in the back of my mind.

And now I am a mother, I keep thinking about that jug.

I worry about how many of us are doing motherhood with that jug dangerously close to the top. Mainly because of what everyone else is pouring into it.

Imagine layers, like a deadly trifle. At the bottom: the relentless logistics. Cooking, laundry, cleaning, life admin, the load.

Then the emotional and physical needs of our children. The carrying, soothing, organising, anticipating.

Then work. Or whatever we’re trying to build, hold together or become.

And finally, balanced precariously on the top, the tiny sliver left for us: our hopes, dreams, passions.

They all take up space.

Pic: Frankie dressed as a mermaid with pink denim jacket (I’m not going to defend my 3 year old’s right to sparkly joy), Rafa as a skater boy and Jerry looking preppy trying to ditch the jacket as we walk back home.

The scary part? Nothing stressful had even happened

The other day I went to a yoga class that had a sound bath at the end. For those of you who haven’t tried it, it’s basically lying down on yoga mats whilst someone makes music from different percussion and crystal bowls. The frequency of the sound they create dominates the room and your body - you can physically feel sound. A bit like when you’re standing too close to the speakers at a rave and can feel the bass. It’s mind-blowing and incredibly relaxing. I checked my Garmin when I left, so soporific I was worried how I’d drive home. My stress levels had dropped by 70% in an 60 minutes.

That’s not the shocking part, the bit I couldn’t get my head around was that it hadn’t been a particularly stressful day. Sure, looking after three cocky, boisterous three-year-olds isn’t easy, but it was nothing out of the ordinary.

And that’s the point. Mums are so used to high levels of stress, we’ve normalised them to the point they are like wallpaper. I don’t even particularly notice it. But my sports watch is there all the time measuring my variable heart rate. It don’t lie.

For it even to be possible to have a 70% drop, I must have been pretty close to that jug being full before I walked into that class. And I didn’t even realise it.

Could we be sleep-walking into maternal breakdowns?

When stress stops feeling like stress and just feels like life

I’ve started reading up on motherhood and chronic stress - not the reactive spikes e.g. when Jerry stepped into the road without looking last week and a black Fiesta slammed on the breaks - but that constant background stress.

If you were totally honest right now, what do you think your background level would be?

Here’s an idea. What if you monitored it for a few days? Do you think it would stay constant or dip? Would it be different on a day in the office or a day at home with the kids? Which would be more stressful?

As I type, my husband has just got back from a long commute and a day in the office but honestly, if you’d seen my boys going feral in the library this morning. And the Olympic-level negotiation required to get coats and wellies back on without any public property being destroyed, you’d have no doubt which one of us had the more stressful day.

I’m going to be going deeper into how mums can look after their nervous systems over the next few weeks, but for now, here are things I’m doing when I notice my stress levels ramp up.

Stopping my stress spirals

During a terrible morning last week, in which I’d already barked “clean your teeth” and “put your shoes on” so many times it had become completely futile, I walked away. We were going to be late anyway. I did a few yoga stretches, and came back calmer, with the mental strength to get through the rest of getting them in the van.

Mid-behaviour battles, I’ve also started singing or humming. The boys were all tired and demanding to be carried as we walked home from town today. Whining every step of the way. Until I started singing the colours of the rainbow. Then everyone joined in, we were kind of singing in rounds because everyone just started when they liked but we were soon home.

When they were babies, I used to sing to them constantly. Even in NICU, I would hold them and sing “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley. Looking back, I think I was trying to convince myself that “every little thing is gonna be alright” more than them.

But in all cases, when I interrupt my own stress response and calm myself first, they can then come down to my levels instead of me shooting up to theirs. You don’t want toddlers driving that bus!

How full is your jug right now?

Do you think motherhood has normalised stress levels that would once have felt like serious red flags?

Tell me in the comments. I have a feeling a lot of us are carrying far more than we realise.

I write raw about motherhood and mum guilt. I’m not afraid to write it as I see it. Subscribe for more.

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The Motherhood Movie Trailer

FADE IN. A mum, with a great body wrapped in matching athleisure wear, jogs with a sleek pram down a sunlit street. CUT TO a bustling café: laughter ripples, babies squeal, and the camera zooms in on her, laughing with her mum friends, sipping her latte whilst it’s still hot. CUT TO a bathroom scene in which she wraps her cute baby in fluffy towel, puts on his pyjamas and lays him down in his cot. He falls asleep instantly. MONTAGE of her evening: meditation, yoga, healthy eating, and a wholesome early night with a book

Now, FADE IN again: me, slumped in an armchair, pumping, unsure if it’s day or night. So dangerously fatigued I am beginning to doubt if I’m fit to be a mother. ZOOM TO THE COT IN THE CORNER: The babies cry endlessly. I walk over and do my best to pick them up one at a time. I make up bottles as fast as I can but it’s no use. They keep crying, and then so do I. I can’t remember my last meal, or shower, or the last time a friend came over. MONTAGE of the rest of the day: feeding, winding, changing nappies, sterilising bottles, getting sloppier and sloppier as the day goes on. By the end of the day, the kitchen is covered in a thin, sticky film of SMA powder, the laundry basket is overflowing, the dishes have piled up in the sink, and there’s no food in the fridge but biscuit and chocolate wrappers are scattered all over the sofa.

Which motherhood trailer did you watch?

Other Mothers

When my triplets were tiny, I barely had time to go online. And whenever I did, nothing about the mainstream motherhood narrative resonated. Not the tone in baby product marketing. Not the glossy magazine imagery. Not the match-matchy curated reality on social media. Even triplet mums were managing to stage perfect photos with matching outfits. Even if we started the day matching, bodily fluids would end up on at least one outfit within hours.

I was deep in the comparison trap. I was having an “other” motherhood. A mixed-race triplet mum with undiagnosed PTSD, just trying to survive the day without killing her husband. My reality wasn’t reflected back to me anywhere.

Eventually, I opened up. Maybe it was fuelled by maternal rage but so many of us are having “other” motherhoods.

At the time, I thought it was just me struggling with dark thoughts, who didn’t have a circle of mum friends, who didn’t have that village.

Now I know that many of us for a multitude of reasons, are excluded from this very narrow mainstream narrative of what motherhood “should” be and look like.

I know that in this amazing F*** Mum Guilt community, there are mums of multiples, single mums, breadwinner mums, stay at home mums, mums of children with severe health problems, mums struggling financially. Mums who struggled with mental health, mums who struggled with physical health and a hell of a lot of mums with no village. Mums who don’t fit that mainstream narrative, and if we’re honest totally disprove it.

I believe there are way more of us “other” mothers than the regular, perfect ones. If you don’t know who I’m talking about - rewatch the trailer at the top of this article.

If there are so many of us, why are we so silent?

In a word: mum judgement - that nasty, bitchy fuel that ignites mum guilt.

Bupa found that nearly two-thirds of mums have driven themselves to exhaustion trying to be a “supermum”. And a third had sought help for mental health struggles but kept it secret from loved ones.

That really hit me because it says everything about modern motherhood.

We are struggling, but pretending we’re fine because we’re scared of the judgement we’re opening ourselves up to.

And I’ll be real, it still exists in some corners. I’ve had it in mum WhatsApp groups, and I’ve been trolled online. So I can’t pretend it’s not there. But honestly, it’s the minority.

Badges on board

Last week I shared my idea of badges that have “mum guilt on board” “, PTSD on board” “Anxiety on Board”, and it’s gone wild, particularly on Instagram. Mums have shared it in other languages and mums have commented:

“THIS 👏🏾👏🏾 I’ll order immediately!!”

“I’ll take one of each”

I had a dream that mums would open up, wear these badges and share their truth, and guess what, mums are up for it. We’re done wearing the mask.

Throughout Maternal Mental Health Awareness Week we’ve seen brave celebrities (I’m looking at you Kimberly Nixon), GPs, Mental Health Professionals and mums from all walks of life putting their hands up and saying I struggled. My motherhood didn’t look like that movie trailer version. It was dark. It was frightening. It was hard.

They’ve shown incredible bravery and have been shown compassion, empathy, and love. Yes, I’ll go that far.

The perfect motherhood movie was always fiction.

Real motherhood is messier. Harder. Uglier. Much more diverse than that.

So although the awareness week may be over, we must keep sharing our truths to break the shame, save lives and collectively create a new “trailer” for motherhood.

Because the “other” mothers are not the exception.

We are the majority.

What if the women you think are coping perfectly are waiting for someone else to speak first?

I write for mums who are DONE with mum guilt, perfectionism and the “supermum” myth. Come join us…

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To be honest, I just went into mum mode, that internal gear we all have, where somehow, on autopilot, we do whatever it takes. We step up. We put our own needs, feelings, and well-being aside. We sacrifice whatever we have to - from washing our hair to our very identity - to get that job done.

A switch was flicked somewhere deep within so that I could function: carefully listen to the doctors, ask questions and advocate for my babies in NICU. So I could be an active part in their care plan without falling to pieces. So that I could cope with day after day, paying beside three incubators, even when those days turned into weeks.

So it’s no surprise that when I was in that mum survival mode, I had disconnected from my own mental well-being. I couldn’t afford to acknowledge it. I didn’t have the time to do anything about it, and in any case, there was no alternative. I had to just keep going. I was in the trenches, and three little lives were counting on me.

My husband was really struggling at the time, so the need to “be the strong one” and somehow carry the family through this humongous challenge fell on me, the ultimate superhero. Mummy.

Pic: Me being wheel-chaired to meet Jerry, about 6 hours after I had a C-section.

It took me over a year to realise I had maternal PTSD.

After going into hospital for an emergency visit with one of my boys, I noticed my body physically reacting to the “beeps” of the machines, putting me in fight-or-flight, constricting my throat. It was pure fear.

I asked other triplet mums if this happened to them when they went into hospital, and it did. One confessed she had to change brand of air-fryers because the beeps were too similar to the hospital machines. Yet she didn’t know she had maternal PTSD either.

I had a cursory check-up at the doctors after giving birth, and then the health visitors asked a few questions, but because I was coping and functioning, everyone thought I was fine. And then, with some kind of fucked-up reverse confirmation bias, I thought I must be fine if they thought I was. They were professionals after all.

But I wasn’t.

To repeat my theme of Mother’s Day, WE ARE NOT FINE.

We are battling impossible expectations with no professional support, and often no village. We are trying to be the home-making mums of our grandmothers’ generation and the breadwinners of today’s. The roles are loading up on our plates, and to be frank, we’re burning out.

I’m genuinely worried about how many of my mum friends are burning out. Our minds and bodies CANNOT sustain this.

It’s showing up as a variety of physical and mental health conditions, some of which we don’t fully recognise or understand yet. Like mum guilt, something that affects 95% of mums, but something no GP, health visitor or midwife will ever even mention.

Some of us know we’re struggling, but some of us just think it’s normal. We have no idea that we have a maternal mental health issue, so it wouldn’t occur to us to seek help. We’re invisible.

Remember, it suits society very nicely if we shut up, put up and don’t trouble anyone with our needs.

I got so angry about this, I mocked up these badges. Just like the ones we get in London so people actually understand we need a seat.

Would you wear one?

Imagine getting on a tube and instead of seeing pregnant women wearing the “baby on board” badges, you saw mums, like you, declaring their reality. I’m pretty sure most mums would be wearing them. Maybe next year, I’ll actually make them.

But what can we do this Maternal Mental Health Week? Yes, it’s this week, but you probably didn’t hear about it.

1,Drop the mask with one mum

Send her a voicenote. Tell her she doesn’t need to “be fine” with you. You get it, and you’re always here if she wants to talk or even just vent.

2, Drop the mask here

Tell your truth, share your experience in the comments below. This is a supportive community of mums who want to hear your voice.

3, Ask your workplace what they’re doing to support mums’ mental health

And if they don’t have a good answer, send them my way.

Nothing changes if we keep quiet.

ps. If you want to be part of more honest, empowering conversations about motherhood, subscribe to the F*** Mum Guilt Movement.

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It’s September 22. I’ve had to get over my deep-rooted discomfort with asking for help and sent my mum and SOS message. The triplets have been home for two months. I’ve been doing 24 feeds every 24 hours and, to be blunt, I’m hanging on by a thread.

My mum came straight over, made me a cup of tea and told me to sit down. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort things out.”

I picked up Rafa and went over to the armchair, wearily. As I sipped my tea, I saw my mum rush about my house, getting increasingly stressed. She worked harder, faster, doubled-down on the multi-tasking until she was completely frantic.

I looked up from my chair and it hit me, “Oh, she hasn’t realised yet. She still thinks it’s possible to get all this stuff done.”

Mama, there is no getting through the to-do list.

It’s all a lie.

Let me break it down…

Lie 1: You should be able to have, do and be it all

It’s trying to fit ten versions of you into one day.

Be the fit mum, the organic mum, the sexy mum, the career mum, the stay at home mum, the adventure mum…. Oh and by the way, each of these “mums” comes with a shit-tonne of work.

Lie 2: Everything is urgent

There’s no hierarchy, so everything on your list feels like it needs doing now. Or as I frequently yell at my triplets “RIGHT NOW!!!!”

It’s like whackamole and the only way to get through it is to go faster and faster. Until our arms are nothing but a blur as we whack for our lives, not knowing what we’re whacking or why any more. It’s reactive, it’s not a strategy.

Lie 3: It’s all on you

Don’t believe the hype. This was never designed as a one-woman job! It shouldn’t all be on one woman’s to-do list. The only reason I’m able to sit and write this to you now is because my mum and aunt are gardening with my boys right now.

The way out isn’t doing more. It’s choosing priorities, not perfection. This is the second step of breaking up with mum guilt.

Introducing…The Priority Filter

This tool helped me cope with running a fast-growing business that was often over capacity. I took it into motherhood and gave it a make-over.

It got baked into my thinking 20 years ago. This is how I look at everything on the list.

• Non-negotiable

• Not now

• Not me

• Not happening

Ready to give it a test-run?

Step 1, Do a brain dump. Write out everything that’s on your mental load, your to-do list, the stuff you’re doing, need to do, or have forgotten about. Don’t be frightened by the scale of the task. A mum who’d burned out twice got me to do this. It’s liberating.

Step 2, Work out what really matters to you most. What are the one or two things you can look back on at the end of a long day/week and feel proud you achieved. When I asked this at a recent workshop, we got answers like “Walking in nature with my son at the weekend”, “Reading a bedtime story every night” and “Friday night movie night”.

Step 3, Sort everything on the list into 4 boxes:

• Non-negotiable

  This falls into two groups:
  – what matters most to you as a mum e.g. reading bedtime stories - (see step 2).
  – what has to happen so life doesn’t fall apart e.g. packing lunch to take to nursery.

• Not now
  This stuff matters but doesn’t have to take up precious mental bandwidth right now. We can park it to revisit later e.g. ordering a present for the birthday party in a couple of weeks.

• Not me
  Don’t be a martyr. This is everything that doesn’t have to be done by you goes here. Paid or unpaid e.g. walking the dog. Maybe someone else wouldn’t do it as well as you, but if it is possible for someone else to do it, put it here.

• Not happening
  This is my favourite category. When you take a long, hard look at that list there will be some stuff that you don’t even need to do. Nice to haves. Or perhaps things that are really important to other people but genuinely aren’t a priority for you e.g. I didn’t bother with baby classes. I didn’t bother reading parenting books as when I tried it, they just made me feel shit. I didn’t bother doing anything that involved taking the triple pram on public transport - it just wasn’t happening.

Screen shot this.

This tool enables me to cut through the noise and get some clarity around what matters most right now. It also gave me permission to things that other people told me I should be doing but really weren’t me.

I didn’t need anyone’s approval. If those things got skipped so I could concentrate on what mattered to me, so be it.

Let’s get real

• What actually matters most to you in motherhood?

• What can wait?

• What doesn’t have to be done by you?

• And what’s just… not happening?

If you’re ready to do motherhood your way, subscribe below.

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How I let myself slow down

“The quickest way to show your nervous system that you’re not being chased by a tiger is to slow down.”

I saw this reel on Instagram ages ago and ironically, it came to mind every time I was sprinting to preschool pushing a 75kg triple pram, not daring to stop to check what Jerry might have chucked out. Families would leap out my way in the tight alleyway so I could charge through. TBH the brakes went on that pram long ago, and once I built up speed I couldn’t exactly stop.

And that’s what’s happening here.

Since my piece last week about unsubscribing from the cult of busy, so many mums have told me that they feel addicted to busy but want to stop.

The problem is: when you’ve normalised mum life at the pace of sprinting from a tiger, you can’t just slam the brakes.

If you’ve just realised you don’t want to run anymore, pull up a chair, there is another way…

First, the to-dos

Part of breaking up with mum guilt is choosing “Priorities not perfection”. I’ll do a deep dive next week, but basically it’s about thinning out the to-do list and making sure you’re spending your resources (time, energy and cash) on the things that actually matter to you. And you alone. This takes courage, but the rewards are great - you get to ditch the stuff that doesn’t matter.

Second, the mindset

Plot twist: it turns out cutting down the to-do list is only half of slowing down.

If I think back to previous preschool holidays, I wouldn’t necessarily have achieved much more professionally than I managed this time (a couple of calls where I begged my mum/husband to cover me). The key difference is I’d be giving myself a hard time about it. I’d fret over not being able to reply to emails for days. I’d worry about how it would look if I was honest and told people I couldn’t attend our Friday meeting for weeks due to lack of childcare. In short, I’d try and make it look like it was business as usual when it wasn’t. Ultimately, I put myself under so much pressure that my mental health took a hit.

This time, I didn’t fight it. I accepted it. This is a pinch point. Resources are down. Expectations need to go down. I didn’t try to work (or make it look) as if it wasn’t a school holiday.

What I stopped

• Noisy numbing. Picture the scene. It’s 5:30pm the triplets have just finished dinner and are running off to play before bathtime. They are shouting wildly. I have no desire to chase after them or clean the kitchen, which is now trashed. I put the kettle on and reach for my phone for a few minutes’ break. I scroll on Instagram or look browse Vinted. Noisy numbing feels like you’re giving your brain a break when you’re actually just stuffing your brain with more noise (images, text, information) not giving it the quiet it craves.

• Task switching. Picture the scene. You’re in the middle of making the breakfast when you get a WhatsApp notification to a message with a link to an Instagram reel. You hop on Instagram to check out the reel. While you’re there, you run through all your notifications and start replying to a DM. Just then, the toast pops so you’re back to making breakfast. Each time you switched tasks there was a cognitive cost. Every time you jump from one thing to another, your brain has to stop, reset, and reload, it’s not multitasking; it’s constant restarting. Part of your attention stays stuck on the last thing (like a mental hangover), so you’re never fully present in the next. Do that all day and it keeps your brain in a low-level stress state: scattered, reactive, and far more exhausted than the work itself would justify. Trust me, I know all about this.

• Lack mindset. In short, I ditched the FOMO. Yes, not staying on top of my professional networking WhatsApp group meant I probably missed cool opportunities but, hey, there’d be others. We can go slower and still win.

Pic: Hammock Time

What I started:

• Gardening with my kids. I recommend this for anyone. Even when I lived in a flat, I managed to climb out a window onto a flat roof to grow courgettes. The triplets love getting muddy, digging, and pushing the wheelbarrow around. Every day, we check the tomato seedlings to see if they’ve grown. There’s something really satisfying about the slow pace of growth. As a bonus we get to eat it. The boys love harvesting the rhubarb and make crumble so well now they’re nearly ready to open a pop-up.

• Reading more. I’ve been devouring my guilty-pleasure crime novel (any other Janice Hallett fans here?) at bedtime instead of being on screens, but also I’ve started a new afternoon tradition with the boys. We get the hammock out, I lie in it and they can bring a book and join me. This proved so successful that every evening, I have to cart in armloads of books.
  I had put pressure on myself to arrange lots for the kids to do in the holidays but my mum (an ex early-years teacher) pointed out all they really want to do is have some special time with me. Get yourself a hammock, or at least a comfy garden chair.

• Mini mindfulness. Years ago I did a mindfulness course at the Buddhist centre round the corner from my old flat. Some of it has stuck, but a lot of it went out the window when I became a mum. Now I can bring moments back by asking my kids what they notice in nature.
  What colour is the sea today? What do the clouds look like? How many birds are there in the garden? (This last one was deployed this morning, when I was so desperate to finish my coffee whilst it was still hot I left the breakfast table war zone and sat in the conservatory. Jerry, who struggles to calm himself down, sat on my lap and counted birds silently whilst I sipped my coffee. I didn’t think “companionable silence” was possible with toddlers.)

Slowing down has given me space.

Space for the things I’ve started.
Space to think clearly, because my mind isn’t ping-ponging all over the place. Some great ideas have popped in about running some real-world events - watch this space.
Space to actually be with my kids, not half in my phone.

I feel a lot better and I’m still getting stuff done.

Over to you

Would you like to stop any of the things I’ve stopped?

What would that give you space for?

I write weekly about mum guilt, mental load, and motherhood on my own terms.

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“Do you think you’ve slowed down since you’ve moved?” an old neighbour from London asked.

“No, no,” I said defensively.

And to be honest, life with 3-year-old triplets is hectic. The sheer domestic work 3 little humans can create before breakfast is eye-watering.

But now the boxes are all unpacked and the “work” of moving is done there is no doubt things have slowed.

In the morning, I check the weather forecast, then the tide times and plan my day accordingly. Simplicity itself.

So, why does admitting to slowing down feel like failure? Like you’re no longer in the race. No longer a serious contender.

Why do I feel guilty about it?

Because this version of life doesn’t look like the one I used to chase. It doesn’t feel like the race I was trained to run or even value.

The cult of busy

I’m a striver, an over-achiever, a squeezer of one extra thing. Surrender doesn’t come easy. Even on holiday, I like to stay active.

Years ago, my best-friend from Uni, Sam, who lives in a village, came to visit me in a flat in Elephant and Castle - which is basically the main gyratory and transport hub for south London. Pretty much every bus in South London goes through it day and night. It never stops.

I’d planned such a busy itinerary cramming in exhibitions, restaurants and even hipster plant shops. When I gave her the big reveal she said, “Urgh! I’m so over the cult of busy.”

Had I sleep-walked into a cult? Was I addicted without even realising?

The pattern interrupt

My pattern interrupt came due to 3 things this Easter:

1. Rafa (who is going through a very expensive destructive phase at the moment - an hour ago he snapped Nana’s varifocal glasses for no good reason - I’m about to drive her to Boots for emergency repairs!) breaking my phone forcing me to be offline for a couple of weeks

2. The Easter holidays = 20 days of no childcare

3. The first properly hot sunny days since we’ve moved to the beach - I’m talking hot enough for my boys to strip and run into the sea naked.

I’ve always known I hate multitasking - and don’t even get me started on habit stacking - but mum life requires it. Not only that, but it’s the mental load of switching.

I’m responding to social comments whilst my kids eat their pasta. I’m checking my emails whilst potty training. I’m trying to keep on top of the 100+ WhatsApp notifications whilst shouting, “I mean it, clean your teeth now or we’re going to be late.”

I never liked it. But I didn’t think I had a choice.

Now, I’ve stopped.

If people had to wait longer for a reply… so be it.

If the algorithms get pissed off with me…so be it

When a new client complained there were no slots on my calendar until after Easter, I fought the urge to apologise.

The only call I had over Easter was with my coach. On it, I glanced over at the vision board I made 2 years ago and realised I’m pretty much living it.

There’s a picture of me on the beach with my boys, a camper van, a coffee and croissant in the sunshine, yoga on the sand. My life actually looks like that now. And it didn’t happen by accident. It came from having the courage to commit to 4 uncomfortable steps, which I’ll share with you next week.

Yes, it takes courage to make a change, and to slow down and change tracks. Yes it will raise a few eyebrows and some people won’t get it. Damn, you’ll even question it some days because it feels so alien.

My whole life has been about achieving and proving I’m worthy: the Oxford degree, the awards, even the TedX. “Take me seriously,” I begged the world.

My coach asked me last week, what it would feel like if I stopped “proving” and started believing.

So I slowed down. And I’m starting to think that might be the bravest thing I’ve ever done.

Over to you:

If you really let yourself slow down… what would be different?

Notice any resistance that comes up.

If you’re done subscribing to the cult of busy, you’ll feel at home here.

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This Mother’s Day, this F*** Mum Guilt community came together for a raw, cameras-on, sharing-from-the-hear- to-a-stranger type chat. The best kind, IMHO. I ran with the theme “We’re not fine” because the data clearly shows that we’re not: 95% of us experience mum guilt and 50% of us in Europe are suffering maternal mental health challenges. I say these stats a lot because I think we all should.

I was right in there with some questions that made the mamas really think. Wanna play?

The question that cracked it open

OK, grab a pen and paper and complete this sentence, “I thought I’d be the kind of mum who…”

This cracked open a whole world of unrealistic expectations each of us had heaped on ourself. Personally, I thought I’d be the Earth Mother type, but when I saw a reel of a hippie mum dancing in the sunshine claiming the only way to bond with your baby is to spend the first 40 days in bed together, I realised it just wasn’t me. I mean my babies hadn’t even been discharged from NICU then.

Someone else thought they’d be the kind of mum who cooked homemade meals every night.

Someone else thought they’d be firing on full cylinders after mat leave, back to work with a full social calendar.

Spoiler alert: none of those things happened for us.

And we laughed together in recognition of what’s happening here.

The expectations driving mum guilt

Our reality is not the problem, our expectations are.

There are so many expectations placed on mums today, many of them start externally - perhaps from society (You can have it all, doll), from your Mother-in-Law (You shouldn’t co-sleep, I never did) or perhaps from social media (This is what motherhood is supposed to look like - if yours doesn’t look like this, you’re probably doing it wrong).

Yet bit by bit, like an unwelcome form of osmosis, they seep under our skin. Then we’re in real trouble because they become our own internal expectations of ourselves. We expect that we’ll be able to do, have, and be everything that’s been presented as “good mum” material. But we can’t, Mama. No one can.

The guilt gap

And when we inevitably fall short (we’re only human), we get stuck in the guilt gap.

Expectations on top.

Reality at the bottom.

Our misery and mum guilt in-between.

We all find ourselves here. One of the first steps of climbing out is getting real about what your expectations of motherhood were before you actually became a mother, then you can stop giving yourself a hard time for not meeting them.

Some of mine where honestly laughable, I thought I’d spend my mat leave travelling around Italy eating gelato, baby in a sling, climbing the Alps.

Reader, I barely made it out of my house.

Yet I’d still see all those glorious (if a tad smug) traveller mum posts and feel a bit “this is what you could have won”.

Over to you

Get really uncomfortably honest with yourself and share your answers to these revealing questions below:

• What did you think motherhood would look like… and what does it actually look like for you?

• Where do you feel the biggest gap between expectation and reality right now?

• What’s one expectation you might be ready to let go of?

P.S.We need more raw conversations

If you want to be in the next room like this and part of real no BS motherhood conversations, or watch what happened in this one, drop me a message.

If this hit a nerve, you’re exactly who the F*** Mum Guilt community is for.

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We are not robots. We’re women, whose divine energy flows.

It’s no wonder so many of us feel “not good enough” when we’re trying to operate like machines in bodies that run on waves.

We have periods of inspiration and action like a couple of weeks ago when I suddenly decided to put on the FMG Mother’s Day Takeover, and we also have periods where we need to recover, take things a little slower. And that’s OK.

I spent most of my career as an entrepreneur. The narrative, culture, and rhetoric in that world is dangerously masculine. It’s about pushing, driving, squeezing, dominating, and competing (all of the reasons I now can’t bear to watch Dragon’s Den - it’s genuinely triggering). None of these attributes are really me. I was all about creative collaboration and interesting ideas.

Until one day, in a Google-inspired co-working space, complete with fake palm trees and hammocks, a wise woman explained something that changed everything. Over a tumeric and ginger shot she said:

“Women are cyclical. It’s our divine feminine energy.”

Here’s the nutshell version. We flow, we find it very hard to be the same, bring the same energy every single day. We have peaks and troughs.

Personally, I have days when I crave company and days when I crave solitude. And left to my own devices, I can choose to balance things in a way that works for me. If you’ve ever cancelled a softplay date because you just can’t face it, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

But here’s the rub, our kids, our boss, our societal structures expect us to be the same every day. No matter where we are in our cycle, no matter how much sleep we got last night, no matter how burned out we’re feeling.

Robo-mum

And so we create this impossible standard: The fully switched-on, endlessly capable, never-dropping-a-ball Robo-mum. Oh she’s a peach. She never needs a break, never gets run down, always has a cheery can-do attitude and won’t break no matter how much you heap on her plate. She’ll deliver 24/7/365.

But we are not Robo-mum. No one is.

And when we don’t have the energy to do all the things she’s expected to do - maintain endless enthusiasm for playing shops with toddlers, cooking a healthy dinner that everyone will eat, effortlessly returning the home to a liveable state - we feel shit for coming up short.

The win here isn’t pushing through and trying to convince everyone you’re infallible (as the entrepreneurial bros will tell you). The win is noticing your own body, your energy, and listening to the signals for when you need to slow down a little. I’m writing this in my PJs, and am already thinking about getting under the duvet with a hot water bottle and it’s not yet 9pm.

I did this last week.

I put so much into all our FMG events that the following few days I’m a bit wiped out. So, I admit I did sack a few things off and spend some time enjoying my new Mother’s Day present - a hammock - in the garden last week.

One of the steps of breaking up with mum guilt is to choose intuition over influence.

Listen to what your mind and body are telling you e.g. “You could really do with a quiet couple of days” rather than the shoulds “You should sort the garden out”, “You should book the dentist”, “You should order a new phone.” Blah Blah Blah.

But then I remembered I’d just signed up to a sprint where we meet every Friday, and the cheery coach who runs the session had got us to set SMART goals to complete by the following Friday.

I left that meeting with renewed distaste for all things SMART.

All I wanted to do was lie in that hammock. Until a couple of hours before the meeting, I had a mega productive half hour and managed to get everything done.

Have you heard of Parkinson’s Law?

It’s basically this: a task will take the length of time you have to complete it.

And if there’s one thing mums are exceptional at, it’s getting shit done in tiny windows of time. Don’t tell us we can “Have it all” then use “productivity” as a stick to beat us. There’s nothing you can teach us about time management.

But what gets overlooked is energy management. Energy, our most precious and beautiful resource.

Bottom line: mums are efficient AF.

We will always get the thing done. The point is noticing when the most efficient thing of all is to rest, slow down, and recover.

And it goes without saying, that no one is going to offer you this on a plate. It’s up to you to take it, Mama.

Join hundreds of mums who are done trying to be everything to everyone and still feeling not good enough enough.
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Frankie bowled into our bedroom, announcing, “It’s Big Daddy’s Day,” and giving his dad, James, a big hug and kiss. I reminded him that it was not. In fact, it was Mother’s Day, so I should get a cuddle.

“But I only like you a little bit,” (he indicated with his hands about 15 cm apart) and I like Daddy this much (arms spread wide).

“Frankie, you can’t come to the restaurant tonight if you don’t give Mummy a cuddle,” James tried desperately.

It was pitiful. I didn’t want the bribe cuddle.

I wanted to explain to Frankie that I’d given up my whole life for him and his brothers but it would be a pointless argument to a three-year-old who already thinks Daddy is way cooler.

My husband gave me a hug and told me they’d appreciate it one day. Maybe.

Thank God, my own mum booked us massages. Why does it take a mum to see a mum?

(pic: Mum & I with our post-treatment relaxed glow)

Seriously, how was it for you?

Maybe there was breakfast in bed.
Maybe there were flowers.
Maybe the kids made you a card.

Maybe you got the recognition and appreciation you really deserve for once.

But underneath it all, the mental load, the mum guilt, the juggle are probably still just as real as they were last week.

Mother’s Day can feel a bit token. Our one day. Our one chance to grab the mic.

That’s why we’re hosting the FMG Mother’s Day Takeover tonight. So we can get together and have real, raw, honest conversation about motherhood.

I’ll also be sharing the 4-step framework that has helped hundreds of mums break up with mum guilt and make clearer, kinder decisions about their time and energy.

The FMG Mother’s Day Takeover
🗓 Tonight – Tuesday 17th
⏰ 8pm (Zoom)

If you’d like to join us, you can register here:

And if you know a mum who might need this conversation today, please send it her way.

Much love x

Leila